


Apropos of Nothing

by language_escapes



Series: Chosen and Defined 'Verse [24]
Category: St Trinian's, St Trinian's (2007 2009)
Genre: Character of Color, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Interracial Relationship, Lesbian Character of Color, POV Female Character, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/language_escapes/pseuds/language_escapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, it turns out they aren't very good at communicating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apropos of Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, unBritpicked. I'm impatient, sorry.
> 
> This story is dedicated to lady_krysis, who always makes me want to write more Andrea/Taylor.
> 
> In the continuity, this takes place some months after "Great Dark Birds" and "Such Agreeable Friends".

One evening, while scarfing down takeout Chinese, Taylor looks at her and says, “Oi. I love you,” and then uses her chopsticks to put a piece of General Tso’s chicken in her mouth as though nothing has happened. Andrea stares at her in disbelief, her lo mein forgotten, and tries to figure out what’s wrong.

It isn’t as if they haven’t said I love you before. They’ve been together for six and a half years, of course they’ve said it. Andrea says it all the time, wrapping her fingers around Taylor’s wrist and staring up at her, stunned and awed and baffled that this woman, this gorgeous, funny, brilliant woman is standing next to her, always next to her, and whispers, “I love you,” before ducking her head down and refusing to meet Taylor’s eyes.

Taylor says it too, usually like this:

“I love you, but…”

“I love you, I love you, don’t go into the kitchen!”

“I love you, Christ, ain’t that enough, you want the fucking laundry too?”

“I love you?”

She says it when she’s angry with Andrea, or when she disagrees with her. When she is apologizing. When Andrea’s angry with her. Sometimes to make Andrea feel better about a rough day. 

Not out of the clear blue like this. Not while they’re watching crap telly and eating takeout, Andrea’s feet in Taylor’s lap. When they’re like this, Taylor usually mumbles about the stupidity of the people on the screen, or talks about who they want to kidnap next. They’ll gossip about their friends, snickering over their ridiculous dramas and thankful that they don’t really have any of their own. A time like this is for unwinding. Taylor never says I love you during this time.

Taylor notices that she’s stopped eating and looks up, frowning. “What?”

Andrea blinks twice, and then shakes her head, letting her hair fall in her face. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

******  
She tries to figure out why Taylor would have said it. There has to be a reason, of course. There always is.

Andrea goes on an impromptu cleaning spree the next day. Generally, she’s the messy one. She likes her clutter, likes making little nests all around her. It drives Taylor to distraction, but so does most of what Andrea does. She cleans, though, because sometimes Taylor uses her mess to hide things from her. Once it was just a late payment on one of their bills. Another time, though, it was a dead mouse that Taylor had killed just as Andrea was walking in the door. She’d hidden it and then forgotten about it, and their flat had stunk for a week.

Andrea digs through the piles, sorting and sifting as she sees fit. She finds one of Taylor’s knives, a few of her hair extensions that she’d lost, and loads of newspapers, so many that she can’t even figure out why they haven’t binned them already. She doesn’t even read the newspaper. She’s pretty sure Taylor doesn’t either.

The point being, though, she finds nothing suspicious. No bills, no dead animals, no strange correspondence or mysterious bloodstains, nothing at all.

Nothing to explain Taylor.

When Taylor comes home, she grins, cheerful and happy and gives Andrea a swift kiss. “Thanks for cleaning, love. I’d meant to get to that.”

Andrea forces the smile onto her face and says, “Yes. Well. You’re welcome.”

******  
“Has Taylor told you anything secret lately?” Andrea asks, cradling the mobile to her ear as she tries to figure out what the password is to Taylor’s laptop.

“Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be very secret, would it?” Peaches replies, her voice soft and amused. Andrea can hear the rustling of paper on the other end, and she can imagine Peaches, all suits and severity, arranging papers and organizing assassinations with a smile on her face. Andrea always feels frumpy next to Peaches. Peaches wears tailored suits; Andrea wears whatever doesn’t smell too bad that day.

“Has she done anything illegal?”

“Andrea.”

“Well, more illegal. Something more illegal,” Andrea clarifies. She has no idea what Taylor’s password is, it’s one of the things they like to keep from each other, they like some boundaries. Well. They like the game of boundaries, of breaking them down. Taylor breaks Andrea’s password every few months; Andrea sneaks money out of Taylor’s bank account. Currently, Andrea’s password is fluffyandkiller4ever, because they’re her babies. Taylor’s is probably something like “cankillyouwithachopstick” or “fuckoffandrea”. Sometimes, Andrea wonders how they’re still together.

She hears Peaches laugh and focuses again. “Andrea, what is this all about?”

Andrea slaps the keyboard in frustration and then closes it. She’ll have to take it to an expert later. “Taylor has been strange lately.”

“Stranger than usual?” Peaches asks.

Andrea frowns. “I’m the strange one.”

“Yes, because Taylor is so normal.” Before Andrea can protest, Peaches continues on, as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “What is this strange thing she’s been doing?”

Andrea looks down. Her nail polish is chipped. Her nails are bitten to the quick. Taylor hates that. She doesn’t like it when Andrea’s fingernails catch on her skin. Smooth scratch marks, those are fine, but the ragged kind are rarely welcome.

“It’s dumb,” she says finally, muttering.

“Andrea, you can tell me,” Peaches says gently.

She sighs. “Taylor said she loves me.”

There is a lengthy silence on the phone, and then Peaches says, very slowly, “And that’s strange… how?”

“She doesn’t just _say_ it,” Andrea says, standing up and pacing around their kitchen. Killer looks up at her briefly and then visibly decides that it isn’t worth it and lowers his head. “When she says it, she says it for a reason. Like I’m angry at her, and she’s trying to get out of it, or she’s angry at me, or- or something,” she finishes pathetically.

“Is she not allowed to say it for other reasons?”

“I think she’s hiding something from me, and she’s preemptively loving me into not yelling at her,” Andrea says.

There is another lengthy silence on the phone. Andrea can just imagine Peaches sitting in her office, her thugs milling about, her bodyguard John standing casually behind her and listening to the entire conversation.

“No, now I see how Taylor is the normal one,” she says.

Andrea frowns. “Hey!”

Peaches hangs up on her, laughing brightly, and for a brief moment, Andrea hates her.

******  
“How much would I have to pay you to hack into Taylor’s computer?” Andrea asks Polly.

Polly pauses in the middle of sipping her tea, gives her a strange look, and then puts the teacup back in her saucer.

“No.”

“Polly-”

“ _No_.”

“Polly, please.”

Polly looks at her sadly. The past few months have been rough on her, what with Annabelle cheating on them, and she feels bad for asking, but she needs to know. Otherwise she wouldn’t ask.

“Andrea, I say this because I love you and respect you: no. Whatever you need to know about Taylor, just ask her.”

Andrea frowns. “Fine.”

******  
“Hello, Annabelle-”

“Polly already warned us. The answer is no. Don’t even bother calling Kelly; the answer will be the same.”

“… I was just calling to say hello.”

“Of course, Andrea.”

******  
They’re eating takeout from their favorite Bangladeshi restaurant, and Taylor is telling Andrea about something utterly ridiculous that Celia did. She’s looking particularly beautiful, her hair is loose over her shoulders and she’s wearing trackies and a sports bra, and her feet are in Andrea’s lap, and suddenly Andrea _just can’t take it anymore_.

“What’s wrong?” she blurts, and Taylor pauses.

“Celia accidentally gave an aide to the Chancellor of the Exchequer the tea with the magic mushrooms in it. Haven’t you been listening?”

Andrea shakes her head and flaps her hands about. “No, not that, that’s hysterical, I was listening, but- what aren’t you telling me?”

Taylor squints at her. “You’re going to have to give me a hint.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Andrea asks, feeling her eyes fill with tears, which is too embarrassing to think about.

Taylor goes from looking confused to alarmed. “What? What- how- how did you go from Celia drugging a politician to me breaking up with you?”

“Oh my God, you are breaking up with me!” Andrea shrieks, standing up and nearly tossing Taylor to the ground in the process. She runs a hand through her hair, trying to figure out how she missed all the signs. People know these things, there are hints, and Taylor has been attentive and loving and, well, brash and rude, just like Taylor always is. She’s been away from home a bit more, and-

“Are you having an affair?” she says. She looks at Taylor, who looks stricken, and her heart sinks. “You’re having an affair,” she whispers. She presses a hand to her mouth and looks around for someplace to sit back down. The armchair is covered in laundry (dirty or clean, she isn’t sure, she has trouble keeping track) and a bag of rubbish (she had meant to get it to the curb, but had forgotten halfway to the door), so she can’t sit there. She settles instead for sitting down in the middle of the floor and burying her face in her knees. It’s as good an option as any.

After a moment, she feels Taylor sit down beside her and throw an arm around her shoulders. It’s casual, not particularly intimate, but it’s exactly what Andrea needs to pull herself together. She takes a shuddering breath, wipes some of her dripping makeup onto her hand, and then looks at Taylor.

Taylor’s face is almost gentle. “Cor,” she says, “You’re a wreck.”

Andrea can’t help but laugh. Their relationship is built on insults and earthquakes. It always has been; it always will.

“Sorry,” she whispers. Her throat hurts from crying.

“See, the thing is, I can’t understand what I’ve done that makes you think I’m an unfaithful bint,” Taylor says, still sounding as casual as she can, but Andrea knows her too well and can see the tension in her shoulders. “I know I’ve been working a lot, but since you tell me who to kidnap, I would think you’d know best what I was doing.”

“You said you love me,” Andrea tells her, voice small.

Taylor jerks to the side, yanking her arm away. “What?”

“You said- you said you loved me. For no reason. Three days ago.”

Taylor stares at her, biting her lip, and then squinches her face up in befuddlement. “Now, I ain’t a genius or nothing, Andrea, but we’ve been together for what? Six years? Seven? I think I’m allowed to say I love you. And I know I’ve said it before.”

Andrea sighs in exasperation. “Yes, but usually you say it for a reason! Like when you’re angry at me and trying to let me know it’s going to be all right, or when you’re trying to stop me from being angry with me, or when you want something from me…” she trails off when she sees Taylor’s face, which looks like she’s been slapped. “What?”

“I sometimes say it just because.”

“No, you don’t. You always say it for a reason. So when you just said it…”

Taylor looks flabbergasted. “Are you bloody serious?”

For just a moment, Andrea feels completely calm. It’s the first time in days. “Taylor,” she says flatly. “Would I be sitting on the floor of our flat, my makeup gone all runny, if I wasn’t serious?”

“My God,” Taylor says, just as flat. “You really are barmy.” Then she smiles, just a little, and kisses Andrea, quick and light, on the forehead. “But then, I’m a bit barmy too, so I suppose I can’t blame you.”

“So you aren’t cheating on me?” Andrea asks.

“Course not. Not breaking up, either, unless you have something you want to tell me.”

“No!” she says quickly. “No, no… absolutely not, no.”

“Good then.”

They sit there for a while, the television flickering and a newscaster announcing who won the football game, and Andrea finally gathers up enough courage to say, “Why’d you say it, then?”

“Because I felt like it,” Taylor says. She shifts, looking a bit uncomfortable. “I know I’m not great at… emotions… but I mean it every time I say it, even if it’s mostly ‘cause I’m trying to avoid trouble.”

“Yes. I mean it, too.”

“I know.”

Andrea licks her lips. “But maybe you could… say it other times, too? More often.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Yeah.”

“Okay then.”

They sit for a moment longer, and Andrea starts to feel awkward and stupid. Then Taylor jumps to her feet, offering her a hand up. Andrea takes it gratefully.

“Wanna go kidnap some rich bloke?”

“God yes.”

******  
They smash some windows instead, unwilling to try kidnapping someone without preparation, but in the middle of lighting a Molotov cocktail, Taylor turns to her and says, smile brighter than the flames, “I love you, you bloody idiot.”

Andrea grins right back, and the world explodes around them.


End file.
